follow my number and slide into my hand
by Mad Server
Summary: Tag to 6.20.  Sam and Dean do low key things.  Dean's sick and sad and restless.  Slash.


Title: follow my number and slide into my hand  
>Author: Mad Server<br>Characters: Sam, Dean  
>Genre: Slash<br>Pairing: Sam/Dean  
>Rating: PG13<br>Word-count: 700  
>Spoilers: 6.20<br>A/N: Big thank you to Enkidu for spotting wobbly bits and grievous errors in human biology.  
>Summary: Sam and Dean... do... things... things which I will not elaborate on for fear of spoilage. Low-key things. And Dean's sick. Tag to 6.20.<br>Disclaimer: Less with the owning. More with the not owning at all.

:::

Sam listens to Dean's dress shoes clicking over the tiles as he paces the office.

"The Crowley family," Sam's telling the sheriff. "A Scottish drug cartel. They were using the old prison as their base of operations."

"That's impossible." The law man straightens a fishing trophy on his desk. Eyes going distant, he trails his fingers along its base. "There were reports of gunshots once, a few months ago..."

"Let me guess. Nothing turned up."

"It was clean. The building was clean. Are you saying..."

Sam nods sympathetically. "It was a need-to-know operation. Don't feel bad."

"I don't understand." The officer shifts in his seat, tracks Dean for two laps across the room. "They've disappeared, again?"

"They just cleared their latest hideout. We're running out of leads. We thought maybe someone around here might've seen something, overheard a conversation. Anything that might tell us where they are."

The sheriff swipes at his mustache, eyes his golden fish with doubt.

Sam flips open his notepad. "We'll protect your witnesses if anything turns up."

The footsteps behind Sam go still. Dean's low, rough voice resonates. "Damn straight."

:::

The sky overhead is thick with clouds. Sam's suit jacket flaps out behind him in a burst of wind, then flutters to resting.

"Nobody remembers anything," Sam sighs, watching Dean's hair puff up in another gale, foil wrapper blustering under his burger.

"Yet." Dean fights a chunk of meat into his mouth, speaks around the crumbs. "Nobody remembers anything yet."

"Yeah. Whatever."

Dean's leg jiggles under the picnic table. He snatches a fry as it blows along the table.

Sam starts scanning for a trash can. "I think I just felt a drop of rain."

"Mmh." Snuffling, Dean drags a wrist under his nose.

"Let's go."

"You gonna melt or something?"

Sam scrutinizes Dean's pale face. "What's with you?"

"Nothing." The leaves rustle in a new breeze. Dark spots spatter the picnic table. Dean rubs a palm over his eyes. "S'nothing." He strides for the car without looking back.

:::

"We'll find something." Rain pounds the Impala's roof as Sam drapes a hand on the back of Dean's burning neck. Sheets of water course down the windshield, shimmering in the rest area's floodlights. "We'll get him."

Watching the changing patterns on the pane, Dean taps his toothbrush absently on his thigh. "Does it matter?"

"What do you mean?" Sam soothes his thumb up and down over the short hair at the base of Dean's skull.

Sniffling, Dean grips the plastic handle in his fist. "Never mind. Forget it."

Sam spreads the backs of his fingers over Dean's stubbly jaw, his cheekbone. "How you feeling? You want another Tylenol?"

"Quit mothering me." Dean sits forward, puts his face in his hands. "Damn it."

Sam watches the low light ripple over his hair, his shoulders, the pillow between them on the bench seat. "It's Cas, right?" Dean sneezes. "Bless you. It's really bugging you."

"Why would it bug me?" The congested voice filters up. "First you go Dark Side, then Cas... what's next, Evil Bobby?"

"That'd be something to see." Sam cocks his head. "On second thought, I think I'll pass."

Dean coughs, looks over. "Hard to imagine, isn't it?" He straightens. "Thank god for that." Lightning flashes and he startles, pinches the bridge of his nose against the thunder. "Ugh."

"Come here." Sam pats his feverish back through the flannel shirt, guides him down to rest his head on Sam's thigh. He strokes the hair back from his temple and massages firm circles into it with the pads of his fingers. Dean shivers once and goes still, his hot face going slack against Sam's jeans.

"You brought me back, all right?" Sam squeezes his shoulder, runs a palm down his biceps. "It was impossible, but you did it anyway." He smoothes the thick fabric of Dean's shirt over his waist where it's ridden up. "You're totally Batman." Dean grunts and Sam threads his fingers back up through his warm hair. "Maybe nobody can save Cas. But if anybody can, it's you." Rain pummels the car. The smell of wet leaves drifts in through the vents. "It's you."

:::

end


End file.
